Insomnia
by rosa lunae
Summary: Post-ep for Wildlife. He couldn't sleep because his wife had brushed against him when she rolled over, and he'd imagined it was Olivia's bare skin caressing his.


_Well, it's official. "Wildlife" is the new "Fault." Though I haven't see the overwhelming outpouring of new post-Wildlife stories that we saw after Fault or Paternity, it's still been incredibly significant, and the episode's story gave more for shippers to hold on to than we've seen in quite a while, and I couldn't resist the temptation to write a post-ep. I hope you enjoy!_

**Insomnia**

He couldn't sleep.

He couldn't sleep because every micro-adjustment he made to get comfortable in this bed that felt foreign, sent searing streaks of pain through his chest and down his arm. Each pounding throb of his injury was a chant, a chastising mantra. "You're an idiot," it said.

It might have been Cragen's voice, or Kathy's. Someone who would tell him that coming back to work after getting shot was stupid, that chasing after the same guy that had tried to kill him only a day after the attempt was stupid. Each stab of pain was a disapproving glance from a doctor, a lecture in itself.

It was stupid. He knew that. He knew he should take the day, go see his family. But he called Kathy, let her know he was going to be fine, then threw himself back into the job, back at Bushido. Olivia's warning echoed in his mind, and he didn't want to go home, back to a wife hanging on by a thread... not yet. Not until it was finished.

Now it was, and he couldn't sleep.

He couldn't sleep because every time he closed his eyes, he saw the gun in his face, he saw the flash and heard the report. He felt the bullets tear through him, over and over again, and saw the coldness in Bushido's eyes.

He remembered being stunned into paralysis, senses overwhelmed by the pain, the shock. He was barely able to remember to breathe. Pain blocked out any possible last thoughts, regrets, or wishes. He felt guilty now, in this bed, that he hadn't thought of Eli or his other children, or Kathy. That in that instant when he realized he could die, he didn't wish he'd been a better husband or father. He couldn't even form thoughts in that moment, only try to draw breath.

Now, his breaths came easy, but for the tug on his stitches, and despite the Tylenol, he couldn't sleep.

He couldn't sleep because his wife had brushed against him when she rolled over, and he'd imagined it was Olivia's bare skin caressing his. Kathy, even in her sleep, had recoiled from the touch, but he was too used to it to be hurt. She rolled over to the edge of the bed, as far from him as she could, even in her subconscious. But Olivia, his parter of eleven years, even with guns in her face and three pairs of hungry male eyes on her—yes, his counted—had pressed against him, hands gently roaming. Every time he closed his eyes, he could feel her breath on his neck, could feel the curves of her body under his hand. Forbidden desire had flooded him then, nearly washing out the fear, and it remained, even now, in this bed with his wife hovering on the edge. Listening to Kathy's breathing, and trying not to move, he could see in his mind, Olivia's bare chest, heard her soft, alluring words, saw the seductive glow in her eyes.

She was flawless—every movement of her body, the desire in her eyes, every touch of her feather fingers, perfectly planned and effortless enacted. Her quick thinking had saved his life, and she'd sacrificed modesty and a slice of dignity to do it. The two men had been transfixed by her just as he had.

His acting had been clumsy; he was distracted by the battle of terror and arousal, and managed to do little more than gawk and mumble sheepishly.

Minutes later, he was shot. But her face, even when he didn't have clarity to even think of his children, had floated into view. He saw the horror, the unfathomable fear in her eyes, and he tried to say her name.

"Liv..."

With a gun in her own face, she'd barely frowned, but when he was on the ground bleeding, she nearly fell apart. And before, only the pain had registered, but with his partner's fear, her mouth so close to his, he'd realized he wanted to live. He had to hold her together.

Her face was the last thing he saw. She was there; he would be okay. He let go, and woke up in the hospital, and just like that, they fell back into the banter they'd had earlier in their partnership. No "How'd you like me naked, El," or "I'm so glad you're alive, El," or "I'm so sorry I got you shot, El."

None of these comments were necessary; he saw them in her eyes. He saw though her banter, through her back-to-business attitude. She was throttled, and he's the one who was shot. Later, he'd thought. Later they would have to talk about it, and he would have to tread softly, or she'd find her way to China instead of Oregon.

Eli was still sleeping, he noticed. He'd picked up the toddler and soothed him back to sleep, and Kathy had been asleep by the time he'd eased himself down on their lumpy mattress. Their breaths seemed too loud, his wife's and his youngest son's. He couldn't sleep.

He couldn't sleep because now he knew how it felt to touch his partner's body, knew that she looked just as feminine and soft beneath her sharp, understated clothes as he imagined. All the years of discipline, of shrugging off rumors, of cold showers and pounding lockers in the back, wasted, because now he'd seen her, felt her, seen desire in her eyes, felt breath on his neck, seen the absolute terror in her face as she knelt by him on that cold street, and all he could think of was her.

She would be blaming herself, he knew. She would be sore from the flying tackle she'd told him about, from pulling the undercover cop back over the side of the building. (Now, that terrified him. He was chasing Bushido, eager to be the one to take the bastard down, and she could have been the one thrown over the edge. His pulse rate increased with the thought alone.) She would replaying it over and over in her mind, wondering if there was any possible way it wasn't her fault.

He couldn't sleep because it wasn't her _name _that he wanted to have on his lips when blackness encroached. He couldn't sleep because it wasn't his wife he wanted to brush against him in her sleep. He couldn't sleep because it could have been Olivia on that sidewalk. He couldn't sleep, because he knew she would be awake.

_____

_Thanks for reading. Reviews appreciated._

_rosa_


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